Return To 1428
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: After all these years, it's time to get some closure...and revenge...revenge would be good too. Sequel To 'The 1428 Diaries'
1. Chapter 1

This story is the sequel to my tale 'The 1428 Diaries'. Reading that _first_ would be useful, but _not_ absolutely necessary.

-

The house on Elm Street, with it's sprawling porch and lovely bright blue door stood desolate and alone.

Where those homes that surrounded it had lush beautiful lawns and sang with the laughter of children, the melodious sounds of yappy little dogs and the noises of teenagers arguing heatedly with their parents, 1428 Elm stayed silent and clouded with an aura that no one could quite put their finger on if asked to identify it.

It stood as a mute witness to the lives that happened around it; the making and breaking of families, the births of babies and the sending of young men and women to college--it remained ever the same as the world around it changed.

It _might_ have fallen into disrepair, so neglected it was, if not for the efforts of one very stubborn real estate agent who _refused_ to accept the fact the place wasn't sellable. The one real estate agent who now stood on the front steps, hair perfect and clothes pristine as she awaited the arrival of the young woman who had wanted to see the place. Angela Smith, the realtor in question, had a _good_ feeling about this.

Today, she was sure, she would sell the Elm street house.

The call had come in that very morning: a high school English teacher, married to a United States Air Force Major currently stationed overseas, who wanted to relocate to a more suburban area after three years of living on a military base.

As if _that_ weren't enough to make Angela glow with confidence that she would make this sale today, the young woman mentioned she was pregnant and refused to raise a child on an air force base…so a house in the 'burbs was desired as soon as humanly possible.

Angela made the pitch for the Elm Street house immediately, and the prospective client had sounded so excited about the place there was no doubt in the realtor's mind that today would be the day she sold 1428 Elm after close to twelve years of trying to get rid of the place.

Not that she really needed to worry about that…the woman who was coming to look at 1428 had no intention of leaving _without_ the deed to the house.

After all...she was returning here to collect something that rightfully belonged to her...

Something she'd left hidden in a musty shoebox under a loose floorboard in the attic twelve years prior.

If she just _happened_ to buy the old place to get the aforementioned item before setting the house alight and watching it burn to ashes...well, that was no one's business but her own, now was it?

_Was it?_


	2. Chapter 2

The papers were signed and the real estate agent gone, leaving the young, pregnant military wife alone in the Elm Street house.

Not that she was _actually_ a military wife and was far from being pregnant.

But the cheap piece of tin on her left ring finger was convincing enough to pull the wool over the eyes of Miss Smith and she'd spun her little web of lies so tightly that nothing short of a background check conducted by the FBI would out her as a fraud.

The woman at the stairwell, running her hand up the banister almost reverently, was a twenty nine year old woman who was, at a point so long ago it seemed to be another lifetime, a seventeen year old girl by the name of Andie O'Neill.

A seventeen year old girl who had once lived in the Elm Street house.

Andie O'Neill…

No, she didn't even call herself that anymore. She hadn't given herself a new name, other than the one on her falsified identification, but even that didn't feel like a new identity.

She likened herself to a nameless, faceless ghost; a specter from another time…fluttering from one place to the next with unfinished business to take care of before she could move on.

Andie's unfinished business was linked to this house and the only way she would ever get any peace was to come back here.

Even though this house had almost killed her once upon a time.

Andie ran her hands up the banister once more, feeling the solid weight of the wood and finding in it comforting.

She had almost convinced herself that none of it was real. That none of what she'd experienced during that horribly traumatic year of her life had occurred.

But here the Elm Street house stood; a testament that it hadn't all been a hallucination.

The walls had been freshly painted and some of the carpeting was replaced, but otherwise, it was the same.

"Miss me?" She whispered quietly to the empty echoing room, not caring if it would seem positively mad to any other person on the planet to talk to an empty house.

"I know I missed _you_," she murmured, taking the first step up the stairs.

"We have unfinished business, you and I, 1428," she said as she continued her ascent. 

She reached the second floor landing and looked for the way into the attic that she knew was here, "Loose ends to tie up…"

It only took her a moment to reorient herself and get in touch with the vivid memories of this very hallway that stayed in her mind like stacks of old Polaroid's; forgotten snatches of time, forever trapped in little pieces of shiny paper--old, but still crystal clear--and find the entrance to the attic.

The smell that greeted her was one of dust and rotting wood, and that cloying scent of old cardboard boxes that were so full of dust that to open one could possibly cause an asthma attack, but the attic was the same.

Right down to the out of place floorboard just a few paces in front of her.

Being slightly taller now than she had been as a teenager, Andie had to stoop slightly to take those few necessary steps towards the floorboard, and when she reached it, she paused.

If it was still here--her diary, his photo--then the very last visages of doubt in her mind would be banished forever.

If those two items were still here, then she would have to make good on the promise she'd made herself.

If that shoebox was still under the floorboard, there would be no turning back; no changing her mind.

With a steadying breath, Andie dropped to her knees in the layers of old attic dust and hooked her fingers under the lip of the protruding slat of wood.

Only a little bit of effort on her part was needed to pry the board loose, and the little faded box in the hollow underneath it was both a horrifying sight and a comforting one.

Comforting because it was here and that meant she wasn't crazy.

Horrifying because she knew what that meant…

What she would have to do now that she'd convinced the last part of her rational mind that protested this endeavor was insane…

With a cautious sort of regard, Andie carefully removed the box from the confines of the hiding place it had occupied for the past half century and flipped off the lid.

Staring up at her from a photo that was exactly as she remembered it, save for a few more creases and a slight bit of yellowing around its edges, was a man she'd spent a long time trying to forget.

She blew on the photo, dislodging a tiny layer of dust before she spoke so quietly that she barely heard herself, "Hiya, Fred…long time no see."


	3. Chapter 3

**Monday, October first.**

Well...it's real. And doubts I might have had have been completely crushed under the heel of one Fred Krueger.

He's exactly the same as I remembered him.

Of course, he's a photograph...he wouldn't have changed...

I don't have the same luxury. After all, I'm definitely not a teenager anymore and I'm closing in on thirty pretty rapidly...

Not that I intend to live to _be_ thirty. Now that I'm here...now that I'm staring at the photo that I spent so long trying to forget...I know what I've got to do.

God it's weird to be writing in a diary again...after that last one, I swore to myself I'd never write in a journal ever again. Too many memories...

But this...what I intend to do...it needs to be chronicled. If not for my own peace of mind, then for the same reason all scientists keep meticulous records: so that those who come after them will have access to the same knowledge.

To that end, I should probably give a quick rundown of the last twelve years, since this diary will most likely be discovered next to the one from my youth. There are quite a few blanks to fill in, I know that.

Firstly I should explain what happened directly after the first diary ended so abruptly.

You would think that from the descriptions therein (I realize now, reading it all over again, just how mad I sounded at the time), that I had been killed.

I definitely cut it close.

But it wasn't by Krueger's blades.

At least, not initially.

I misjudged the amount of tranquilizer that I was taking in the interests of facing off against that demon and almost killed myself accidentally.

The ironic thing of it is that I took _so_ much, I slipped from his grasp mere moments before he would have dealt me what would have been my dying blow.

Being brain dead tends to yank a person out of their dreams quite effectively.

That doesn't mean I don't still have the scars from our encounter...there's four long, clean silvery lines across my abdomen--uniform in length--but the wounds weren't deep enough to kill me.

My mother discovered me in my bedroom shortly after I had taken the pills and F.K. had first gotten at me...and for that I'm grateful. An ambulance managed to make it to me in time...

Everyone assumed it had been a suicide attempt on my part...that the stress which had eaten away at me finally pushed me over the edge and into madness.

When I finally came to in a hospital in Cincinatti, I did little to disuade their suspicions.

I was young...not stupid...they would have thought me even crazier if I had tried to tell them about what I'd experienced.

That worked to my advantage in some ways...

In other ways, not so much.

It got me out of Springwood. It got me out of Krueger's clutches and I was able to convince my mother that I could never return to 1428 without losing my mind again.

The shrinks all agreed...that house held far too many traumatic memories for me to stay sane inside it.

So mom sold it. Dirt cheap. It's not like she needed the money...

And then we went back to Michigan.

For two years, she treated me like I was made of spun glass...just waiting for the opportunity to crack under the wrong sort of pressure...

For two years I submitted myself to therapy sessions on a constant basis...sometimes as many as five per week...

I was almost convinced that everything I'd experienced in this house _had_ been in my mind.

_Almost._

The nightmares persisted though...even after I left Springwood...

But they weren't the same. They didn't have the same authenticity to them--if that makes any sense at all--and I knew that those nightmares I had back in Michigan were the creations of my mind.

How I could tell the difference between the genuine article and the ones that were my own terror eating me up from the inside out, I'm not sure...but I knew.

I _knew._

When I turned twenty and my life had somewhat returned to normal--at least as normal as I ever hoped it could become--I started wondering...

That wondering led me some very strange places.

Strange places that it probably shouldn't have indulged.

I headed to college but...well, while I put up the front of being a normal student...

I started throwing myself into research.

Research that any scholar in his right mind wouldn't have been bothered to spit on.

Thankfully, one of my professors _wasn't_ in his right mind.

And he seemed to have extensive knowlege in the realm of the supernatural...

My crusade grew in magnitude and I started to become a woman posessed by the need to find a way to destroy Fred Krueger once and for all.

It took close to seven years of intense study...study that took me all over the globe...study that forced me to leave behind the girl I was to become the nameless and the faceless...

Studies that almost killed me as surely as Krueger had.

And now...

Now I've returned to Springwood.

Now I'm equipped.

Now I'm ready.

Now there isn't any doubt in my mind that I _was_ just a damaged teenager trying to make sense of things in a nonsensical world with gruesome fantasies...this photograph and that diary are my proof that it all happened just as I thought it did.

As such, exactly one month hence, Fred Krueger will be no more.

But before I allow myself to go up against _him_...I have work to do...

I have to obliterate his face from the memory of this small town. I have to wipe out _everything_ that they've _tried_ wiping out.

Where they failed, I'll succeed. Nothing short of the interference of God himself will stay me from my task.

I think it rather fitting that I'll be slaughtering the bogeyman once and for all on Halloween night...


	4. Chapter 4

**October second.**

Well, the house is the same as it ever was. Not so much as a fresh coat of paint on any of the walls or a replaced stair.

Actually, I've noticed that most of Springwood is the same. It's...I don't know how to explain it, exactly. Stilted. Stagnant. Like a mosquito caught in a block of amber…unmovable and completely oblivious to the world turning and changing around it.

Sure, Springwood gives the impression of being a thriving suburban town, with its perfect little houses and perfect little lawns and perfect little children playing with perfect little dogs…

But there's something…_off_ about it all.

It's absolutely unnatural in every possible way, that's what it is.

Time seems to stand still here…like a pocket of the past that's untouched by the ravages of age and modifications to society at large. Nothing is changed, neither for the better nor for the worse, and it's like walking right back into the world I left behind without so much as a single particle of dust out of place.

To say that it's been surreal to return to this place after being away for so long is one of the grossest understatements I can think of.

It's not just surreal, it's outright _bizarre_…especially since _everything_ is _exactly_ the same as I remember it.

Even the graveyard is the same.

That was my first stop last night…I didn't actually go in this time, but I…don't honestly think I can see Leah and Terry's headstones so _soon_. I know it's been more than a decade, but the wounds are still fresh…the fact that Springwood is seemingly trapped in time, not moving forward at all, only makes the memories worse.

I miss them both horribly. We only knew each other for less than a year…but I still miss them so much my chest actually aches when I look at the photo I have of the three of us together.

Why did they have to die when I survived? It's not fair at all…

I'd give anything to have them living and breathing and _with_ me once again…they were my sisters--or at least as close to sisters as I could ever come…

The clock is chiming eleven, and I'm still sitting here writing. I _should_ be going to bed…since dream demon slaying is such a tiring task and I'm going to need as much energy as I can muster when I finally go up against him…but…

I can't go to bed just yet. I just _can't_. There's still so much too say and not nearly enough time to say it in. I have so much I want to tell you…so much I want to express before I die…

And make no mistake, this time I know I'm going to bite the big one. I've come to terms with it, for the most part…and I'm as prepared for meeting death as I ever was…

He let me slip through his fingers before and here I am returning to the very place where his memory thrives and beats off the inevitable _final_ reckoning that he should have had so long ago…

I'm a lamb sauntering up to the slaughter and laying my head on the chopping block, smiling the whole time.

No _way_ he's going to pass up on _that_. Too plumb an opportunity to let me go _again_…

But God I hope I don't start having the nightmares for a good long while. It's eerie enough sleeping in my old bedroom without the addition of Fred--no, _Freddy_--Krueger haunting my dreams at night.

Oh, I know the nightmares will come…they _have_ to come if I want this endeavor to work…after all, I can't destroy him without meeting him at least one more time…

But the nightmares aren't something I'm particularly looking forward to. I'd like to put it off as long as possible so that I can keep a clear head during all the rituals I'm going to have to perform in order to cleanse this place of his foul essence but I know he won't give me much time to myself before he comes to me again…

I wouldn't say I'm scared exactly--the worst he could do to me is kill me, which is a road I've been down once already--but I do feel this creeping, heavy sense of dread closing around me.

It's almost suffocating and I…

Well, I _would_ say that I don't know what the cause is, but that would be a lie…besides, it's more than a little late for modesty. This diary is to be a _true_ account of everything that happens, so I have to be honest in every word I scribble…

I'm not scared he'll kill me…I'm worried he'll touch my mind the way he did before. That horrible, skin crawling desire buried deep inside me that causes some primal part of my psyche to be drawn to him.

When I was a teenager, there was a dark and scary element of my soul that wanted to be a part of his power…that wanted to be _closer_ to that immeasurable force that he held dominion over…

Every living being wants power in some form, I know I'm no different. To deny that would be to deny the very nature that makes me human.

But _wanting_ to revel in it but finding the strength to defy it and embracing it with every fiber of your being are two _very _different things.

If I allow my darker side to take control, I'll lose my chances of beating Krueger once and for all…so I'll have to resist that enticing pull he seems to have over the more shadowy corners of my heart.

The only thing that will beat darkness is light, and while I don't have _much_ innocence left, I'm going to hang on like hell to what little purity I _do_ possess.

I won't let him blacken my spirit any more than it already has been.

I'll kill myself before I let that happen again.


	5. Chapter 5

**October third.**

Professor Williams called me earlier today. The old man's still trying to persuade me out of doing what I've got planned...

Too dangerous, he says.

I find that painfully ironic from a man who spent close to ten years researching and eradicating Candarian demons.

It's also ironic since he's the one who helped pay for me to go to Africa to study shamanism--as well as all my _other_ little non-university funded field trips to various 'interesting' locales around the globe in the interests of getting my paws on some artifacts that _should_ help me get rid of Krueger for _good_.

I'm starting to wonder if old man Ashley Williams just thought I wouldn't go through with it...maybe he didn't think I was ready for the heavy risks involved here? Maybe he didn't think I was ready for death?

I'm not entirely sure that I _am_ ready for death...but I can't keep living my life the way I have been. The past twelve years have been spent with Freddy Krueger lurking at the edges of my consciousness, like the proverbial monster in the closet, and I've been waiting for him to leap at me when I'm least expecting it.

Maybe I _am_ ready for death...maybe I'm just tired of being on guard twenty four seven. It is pretty exhausting.

The professor offered to come to Springwood to assist with the ritual, but I warned him off as gently as I could. This is something I've got to deal with on my own.

Besides, I'm not entirely convinced he wouldn't try to botch this in some way, just to keep me from getting hurt. The man has a hero complex, I swear to God. Isn't it bad enough he lost a hand to the darkness? Surely he, more than most people, understands that personal risk is a part of the supernatural _game_.

Regardless, now that I have my personal thoughts out of the way, I'll scribble the more technical specs. Tonight's the new moon, so I'll be starting the corresponding invocations to prepare myself (if I don't succeed and someone else finds this book, let it be noted that I plan on invoking Anubis; guardian of the dead, guide to the underworld, protector of dreamers etc. etc. etc.). Water based elemental stuff (I know, very technical) is on the agenda for the evening and I'm really not looking forward to handling that bottle of holy water from the Vatican.

Catholics give me the creeps, but they can make some damn powerful exorcism tools. The preparations are nerve wracking, but they have to be done.

Um, Angelica root incense is currently being burned (and oh doesn't _that_ smell pretty?) and Camphor is up next. Hopefully their combined exorcism and purification properties will keep Freddy at bay.

I _doubt_ it, but they say hope springs eternal.

I'll be hitting the sack at midnight, roughly, so I'm going to spend the next three hours breathing through my mouth while listing all the places that I need to systematically cleanse of Krueger related information.

So far, I've got medical records listed, the newspaper archives, the library, the school and…

The cemetery. There are too many stones that point to foul play…all it would take is one wayward teen with a curious side to open the whole can of worms all over again.

I'm no psychic, but I think I have a career in grave vandalizing in my future.

I'm going to put that off for last, though. Paperwork is easier to change than solid stone.

Clock just chimed nine thirty. Time to swap out the incense.


	6. Chapter 6

**October fourth.**

F.Y.I. Anubis is a fucking slacker. Protector of dreamers my ass.

You can take that as a "Why yes, I did just wake up from a horrible nightmare, thank you for asking."

I had hoped I'd have more time than this to prepare...I thought maybe the fact I'm an adult now would slow up Krueger...after all, I've seen who lives on this block. There's lots of juicy teenage girls ripe for the dream invasions.

Apparently he'd still rather fond of me, though.

Maybe he's got a thing for the ones that got away?

And I know I'm stalling. I should be writing down what the dream was like, but I don't want to face it yet.

Ironic that I'm still shaking and I haven't even caught sight of _him_ yet.

Alright, okay, it has to be done. I can't put it off. I know that. I don't have time to beat around the bush when drawing a picture of a shrub would be a more effective means of getting my point across.

I was in the boiler room. I probably haven't ever described the boiler room in detail before. It's hard to describe in coherent sentences. The imagery lends itself to single words, not whole thoughts. It's red. Angry. _Hot_.

The air is damp like those humid nights in August when it's getting ready to rain really hard. The air is just _stifling._

And it smells...rusty. A mix of blood and rusted metal.

Ugh. Thinking about it, I feel ill. Just really, really queasy.

But...

God, I just shuddered violently.

Hell no, I am not going to get sick. Too much to do.

I hope these are just the after effects of the dream. I can't be shaking and wracked with chills when I'm trying to interact with people around town...

Right. Dream. God why can't I focus? What's wrong with me?

Damn house. It's the damn house. I hate this place.

I can feel it happening, you know? I can feel part of me trying to slip into madness.

I can't wait to set this place on fire and watch it burn to ash around me.

Dream, dream, yes. Okay...I was in the boiler room. Krueger was nowhere to be seen.

But Terry was there.

Or...what was left of Terry.

And now I feel sick to my stomach again. Fuck. I should be able to handle this, dammit. Get it together, Andie.

Terry was...well, the years in that pine box haven't been kind to her, let's put it that way.

She sounded so real. Looked _so_ real.

She accused me of abandoning her. Accused me of unleashing Krueger on Springwood again.

She was falling apart, like an old ragdoll losing its stuffing out of various tears in its fabric.

Ungh. I...I don't want to think about it. If I do I'm liable to puke and then where would we be?

I'm going to take a walk to clear my head...and chug some antacid. I have things to do today, can't afford to be sickly.


	7. Chapter 7

**October fifth.**

I'm starting to think I've got the stomach flu or else my constitution isn't what it used to be. Spent most of the morning after waking from my latest dream to throw up so violently I thought I might turn inside out. Much of today was spent stealthily sipping at a bottle of Pepto Bismol to keep my innards from rebelling while I wandered around town.

It's probably an ulcer trying to develop, with my luck.

At any rate, today I hit the library. I checked out as much as I could with my 'new' card that could lead someone down the Krueger path and I tossed them in the fireplace before lighting up.

After that, I wandered to the newspaper office. They're hiring a data processing clerk, which is, without a doubt, the luckiest thing that's ever happened to me.

I asked to see the head man and charmed the pants off him.

"I'm a person who enjoys being busy, and with my husband gone and the house empty…"

I got the job with a few well placed sniffles and smiles. I deserve an Oscar.

I start work tomorrow. I'll do just enough data processing to keep the boss from getting suspicious. The rest of my time is going to be devoted to destroying and replacing newspaper records.

God I'm glad I came prepared. Those fake papers might have cost a pretty penny to get 'em printed, but it'll be worth it. This time next week, there won't be any **gaping** holes in Springwood's history that might make a more curious teenager dig a little bit deeper, just a couple of missing papers that will allow for plausible explanations.

Really, termites? That was the best they could do?

Infiltrating the police station's records is going to be harder and probably involve a little more breaking and entering than I'm comfortable with, but I have a feeling most of the work _there_ has already been done. Gotta remember that Springwood wants to blot Krueger out as much as I do, they just went about it all wrong.

Is it right of me to take on this task because they failed? That's a question for the philosophers of future generations, not me. I've faced the monster they're all afraid of and walked away intact. Best I can tell, I'm the only person who's ever managed to stay alive for longer than five years after meeting up with him…who's more qualified?

Know your enemy, they say. I know more about Fred Krueger than anyone has any right to…so I figure I'm the best person for the job.

I have a lot of preparations to indulge in before I try to get into the police station…which I should start on before I hit the sack tonight, so I'd best get on that.


	8. Chapter 8

**October sixth**

Is it just me, or are small town cops incredibly gullible? I staged a break-in around three this morning and they _bought it_.

Furthermore, when they took me to the station, they didn't leave anyone around to _watch_ me.

Luck? Divine providence? I don't give a shit. I had enough freedom of movement to sneak in a couple of files and sneak a couple out. That's all that matters.

Now even the police don't have a file on Fred Krueger. Damn I'm good.

I'm actually starting to think this is _too_ easy. I mean, the only obstacles I've hit thus far have been one dream and this weird icky 'I have to puke' feeling that refuses to go away, and I think _that_ might just be stress. Plus, it's that time of the--

Wait.

It's the sixth. I should be menstruating by now. Why aren't I?

Fuck. FUCK. Oklahoma City. Damn! God, how could I forget something that could so royally screw up my plans?

Great. Just _great_. Sick every day…throwing up…and now I'm _late_…

And six weeks ago I had a drunken one night stand to celebrate my return to the states and my impending doom. One last hurrah before I went to my death.

No. NO. I refuse to believe I could be pregnant. I worked too long and too hard to get here for something so…so _trivial_ to get in my way.

That sounds like a horrible way to talk about a baby; but I'm going to _die_. That was my intention when I _came_ here. I knew I wouldn't be getting out alive and _now_…

Shit.


	9. Chapter 9

**October seventh.**

Well, I might not like the newest development in my life, but at least _someone_ finds it amusing.

Fred Krueger takes immense pleasure in knowing that I'm currently in turmoil about whether or not I should destroy myself _and_ the child that may be in my womb while taking him down…

He finds me _entertaining_.

Bastard.

It's time to start depriving myself of sleep again, I think. He's getting too close every time he's in my head. The rituals I've been performing have kept him from doing any serious damage, but that doesn't stop him from hurting me _mentally_.

Do you know what it's like to have a serial killer slithering around in your brain, whispering things you never wanted to know? No, I don't suppose you do.

He's decided that conversing with me on the finer points of his last few murders is a perfectly delightful way to pass the time, since he can't _kill_ me.

I'll give him points for creativity, if nothing else.

The worst part of this is I can feel myself starting to slip back into the madness I _thought_ I was done with. He's just as powerful as ever--even though he can't touch me--and that power has a pull all its own.

It's dragging me down. I can _feel_ it happening and it's scarier than I remember it being. So much so that I'm considering calling Professor Williams and asking if his offer for assistance still stands…

But that's crazy. I can't ask him to come here. Aside from the fact he thinks this is insane already, if he knows I might be pregnant, he'll…

Well, I don't know what he'd do _exactly_, but he'll try to stop me.

And I'm not so sure I'd have the strength to fight him on it right now. I'm not even sure if I'd _want_ to argue the point with him.

I have to know for sure if I'm pregnant before I make any moves. I'll go crazy if I don't know for certain.

Although, if I just keep going _without_ finding out, my conscience might be a little less hard on me if I wind up having to kill myself for this cause.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Forget it, I'm getting a pregnancy test tomorrow. Damn the consequences. I can't focus until I know for sure.


	10. Chapter 10

**October eighth.**

I hate blue. Loathe blue. Detest it, really. It's my least favorite color _ever_.

Eight minutes to go.

Don't turn blue. 

I'm begging you little plastic stick, for the love of God, don't turn blue.

Don't turn blue. Don't turn blue. Don't turn blue. 

Deep breath.

Why am I panicking? This is so not a big deal. It's not going to turn blue...it can't turn blue. Please _God_ don't let it turn blue.

Shit my hands are shaking...I shouldn't be this nervous. It's just a matter of waiting for the timer to go off...

Is it just me, or are the hands on the clock moving way slower than usual? Twenty minues should be up by now, shouldn't it?

I swear, I'll never smoke again. I'll give up alcohol. Anything, God, just so long as that doesn't turn blue.

Two minutes to go.

It's probably indigestion. Or the stomach flu.

Food poisoning?

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

Thirty seconds...my leg is bobbing up and down like crazy now. Feels like my kneecap is going to fall off if I keep it up.

Fifteen seconds.

Ten.

Five.

One.

I can't look. I just can't _bear_ to look.

But I have to. It's like a horror movie...I don't want to look, but I end up peeking through my fingers at the screen anyway.

Don't be blue. Don't be blue. Don't be blue.

Oh God, it's blue.

Oh FUCK it's blue.

I'm pregnant.

Oh, Jesus...what'll I do _now_?


	11. Chapter 11

**October ninth.**

Pregnant. The word sounds so...foreign. So _wrong_ in this situation.

This place--this house, this _town_--is supposed to be all about _death_, not new _life_.

It's easy to be on a suicide mission if you don't have anything to lose, but _now_…

Well, would I really be losing anything? I'd never live long enough to be a mother _to_ a child…and even if I did, I'd be a horrible parent. I'd mess the kid up so badly a team of psychiatrists wouldn't be able to tell it which way was up.

I guess it comes down to whether or not I want to sacrifice someone _else_ in the hopes of getting rid of Krueger for good. I called the professor today...I needed to talk to _someone_ other than the madman who's taken up residence in my head.

A little more than a week and I'm already feeling fatigued due to my circumstances and surroundings. This place just sucks the life out of you.

_He_ sucks the life out of you.

I haven't slept in two days and I think Williams could tell that I'm starting to feel the effects of being back in Springwood. He kept inquiring after my health, like my fatigue was as audible as a cough or severely sore throat.

He offered to come here again.

I almost took him up on it.

_Almost_.

But I can't do that to him. I can't drag him into this. This is _my_ mess and he's an old man nearing seventy. Even if my final confrontation with Krueger didn't kill _me_, it would surely kill _him_, despite how tough he seems to be.

Of course, that raises the morality question again. I can't drag Williams into this--a man nearing the end of his life--but I _can_ bring an unborn child into the equation?

It makes me sick just to think about it…to think about what I'm going to do…

I'm going to snuff out a life before it even gets rolling.

What does that say about me? Am I really any better than Krueger in this?

I hope I am. I hope I deserve a place in hell that's far away from him if I'm only a _little_ bit less guilty of murder than he is…

Besides, it's not as if I have much of a choice in the matter. I can't in good conscience let him go now that I've set events in motion that can't be reversed.

Baby or no baby, I'm going to finish what I came here to do.


	12. Chapter 12

**October Tenth.**

So help me, hero or not, old man or not, I am going to KILL Professor Williams! He showed up on the doorstep this morning, luggage trailing behind him, God damn it!

I wanted to handle this on my own! This is **MY** fight! I DO NOT NEED ANY HELP!

Well, maybe I _do_ need it…but I certainly don't _want_ it. He _knows_ that I don't…he knows _why_ I don't…

And yet he shows up with half the damn university's library in his suitcases, "Ready to pick up my slack."

I do not have any slack! THERE IS NO SLACK!

I'M FINE!

Okay, okay, this isn't helping. Getting angry enough to tear his head from his shoulders is not helpful at all.

It'd take the edge off, but it wouldn't be _helpful_…

He's posing as my father to explain away his presence here…and I _suppose_ I could…let him hold vigil over me when I sleep…or let him play the part of dotty old man in whatever establishments I need to slip inside…

Oh.

Westin.

Hell, I still have to get inside Westin Hills. How could I have forgotten?

Yet another complication…first a pregnancy, then an unwanted visitor, now a locked-up-tight-as-a-drum mental institution to try and get into.

Great.


	13. Chapter 13

**October eleventh**

I'm starting to wish I never came back here. Nothing good ever happens here…I don't know why I bothered to hope that _I_ could do any good in Springwood.

I mean…honestly. Training and rituals aside: What the HELL am I doing? The whole universe as I know it just keeps crashing down around my ears, and I'm standing with my arms outstretched, screaming "More! Beat me up some more! I can take it!"

Only I can't.

Fred knows I can't. He keeps _telling_ me I can't.

And damn it, I don't want to admit it, but he's _right_.

I don't _know_ what I was thinking. I could have just gone on about my life without ever giving a glance back at Springwood. I could have been just fine...had a normal life, a normal family...

But _no_, I _had_ to decide to be a hero. Why? Why _bother?_ So I kill _this_ monster in the closet...where there's one, there's more...it's a never ending cycle.

Do you think Krueger was the first? Ha. I _know_ he wasn't. There've been _hundreds_ of dream demons documented throughout the history of mankind.

I take him down, another one springs up in his place. Like fucking _weeds_. The fact that the Professor has all those tales of demons he's faced to tell me is concrete proof of that. The man lost a _hand_ to evil. I came here planning to lose my _life_…

And for what? Springwood will be safe and they'll never even know how it happened. What's more, there'll be another small town somewhere with an evil creeping around its edges…

Who'll save _that_ little town? And the one after it? And the one after _that_? There is no supernatural police force full of suicidal people with no other purpose than to fight wickedness.

Maybe there should be.

But I can hardly think of a convincing ad campaign to boost membership…

"Join us and die! We promise!"

Doesn't have the same poetic ring as "Be all you can be", does it?

God, this entry just jumps all over the place, doesn't it? The sleep deprivation really _is_ taking its toll. Although I'm starting to think that's not even doing much good anymore. I've started to hear him during the daytime now, when I'm fully awake.

Well, mostly awake…

It's the spells. They're meant to break down the barriers between the two of us so I can get at him effectively during the final showdown, and they protect me from physical harm…

But I've still got him inside my head…and with every barrier that crumbles, the more influential he gets--no, the _louder_ he gets. He's not influencing me. I refuse to believe _that_…but he is getting louder. More insistent.

He's getting restless. That's one good thing, I suppose. It's irritating the hell out of him that he can't _touch_ me. (Yes, Andie, let's _annoy_ the demon and see how we do. Good idea. Antagonize him and make things worse in the end. Yeah, that sounds like a _fantastic_ plan.)

It's getting late…so late…it's so dark outside--

What the hell was that scream?

Williams!


	14. Chapter 14

**October Twelfth **

Ash Williams is a genius.

He's insane, but he's a _genius_.

Staging a nervous breakdown in the front yard at eleven last night to get into a mental institution? Who _thinks_ of that? That's why he _came_ here…he just told me so when I 'visited' him just now. He knew I couldn't get in on my own to get at all the files that need changing; not without compromising my precarious position in 1428 and possibly wrecking all the rituals I've got going…

So he showed up and pulled a…pulled a…

I don't know what he pulled exactly, but it was definitive Ash, through and through.

I know he had a history of being in mental institutions way back when, but I had no idea he could play the part _so_ flawlessly. He should have been an actor.

And the best part is, after the cops showed up, he went _willingly_. He signed himself in. He wasn't actually committed.

He can leave whenever the hell he feels like it and they can't stop him.

That's Westin's files taken care of quite neatly.

It was a truly inspired plan.

I swear, the second that man gets out, I'm going to kiss him for this. Of course, that's provided I'm still around by then…the month is already almost half gone.

Well, I guess there's no more putting it off then, is there? The police files are taken care of; Westin isn't a problem and the newspaper archives are nice and tidy…

All that's left is the cemetery.

And then the man himself…

Grave desecration and then the grave itself. Now that's irony at its best.


	15. Chapter 15

**October Thirteenth.**

Should have known something bad was going to happen today, thirteen being such a wonderful number and all….

I got a call from Westin Hills this morning.

Professor Ash Williams is now the dearly departed Professor Ash Williams.

They found him in his room, hanging from a rafter by his bed sheet. The doctor said he hanged himself--which I know is a bogus cover-up--but it doesn't matter. Dead is dead no matter how you dress it up or what you call it.

It doesn't matter how it happened or how they _say_ it happened--it's still all _my _fault.

I feel sick. And I don't think it has anything to do with the pregnancy.

Williams assured me before he signed himself in as an inpatient that he was safe in Springwood due to the heavy protections I've been casting within the walls of 1428--but apparently those charms only stretch as far as the front yard. Once you're out of here, you're as much fair game as anyone else in this town, protective enchantments being enforced or not.

The irony of the fact that I've quite effectively locked myself in with the enemy is not lost on me, believe me. If I try to leave this house and I'm gone long enough to doze off somewhere, I'm good as shishkabobbed.

Here I thought I was keeping _him_ out of my realm, when really, I've been pulling myself deeper into his. Our existences are truly intertwined now--I've inadvertently made certain of it. I can't leave without dying and I can't stay without facing him. I have no choice but to press forward.

There is no turning back. My fate is sealed.

I wonder if Williams knew? Is that why he tried so hard to persuade me out of this? Because he knew once I got to a certain point, there would be no changing my mind?

Tomorrow I'll make the funeral arrangements for Ash. I'm the closest thing to a child he's ever had, I'd wager, and I feel obligated after everything he's done--everything he _did_ for me...

It's strange to refer to him in the past tense. He'd been through so much and survived; fought all his own battles throughout his youth and even into middle age--survived insurmountable odds and a dozen holy (and unholy) wars…and now he's died fighting one of mine.

It's a good thing I'll be dead within the month or the guilt alone might kill me.

The day after tomorrow, I'm going to the cemetery. I have to face the graves of all Fred's children.

And his wife. I have to face his wife. God. I have to call her forth and _speak_ with her, don't I? I don't want to…but I have to. Anything I can use against him, any foothold I can find--I have to use it.

That includes conversations with the dead and things best left buried under six feet of earth.

Then, the real work to deeply entrench myself in Krueger's universe begins.

Were I a genuinely religious person, I might pray for my soul, considering what I'll be staring in the face this time Monday.

But I'm not religious. And even if I were, I highly doubt my soul is worth saving anymore.


	16. Chapter 16

**October Fourteenth**

I don't know what's stranger. The preparations for burying Professor Williams, or the preparations for conversing with the legions of the dead he's just joined.

The two processes are equally disturbing to contemplate.

I started work on the latest of the incantations that are supposed to help merge the other worlds on their respective planes with this one--the worlds of the living, the dead _and_ the damned--and now that I _know_ exactly what it is that I'm accomplishing, I think I've been more successful than my previous attempts. The police officer who came to speak with me about Williams' 'suicide' today looked visibly uncomfortable when he entered the house.

While that might be because he knows the history of the place, somehow I think he could _feel_ the changes that are being wrought within these walls.

It's changing me as well. I can feel it. Things feel…darker. _I_ feel darker. Like there's visible tendrils of _evil_ lapping at my skin, licking the edges of my perception like so much hellfire.

And the house has started to reek of sulfur. It's just a little cloying whiff now and again, but it's there.

I've cracked opened the very jaws of hell…and the stench of brimstone is wafting out to herald the devil's arrival.

…

God, listen to me. You'd think I were Dante instead of a kamikaze bent on her own destruction.

I've done as much as I can inside the house now…first thing in the morning I go to the cemetery and start changing/obscuring dates on tombstones.

I'm not looking forward to the gathering of grave soil that will follow, nor the supernatural conversations that will be coming directly afterwards.

I'll speak with as many victims as I can, try and figure out a weak spot in his armor, a vulnerability that I can exploit…perhaps I'll pull his mother from eternal rest for a few minutes…

And though I hate to admit it, there's more than just a little curiosity about speaking with one of Fred's victims in particular.

Is it wrong that above all the others, I wonder what his wife will have to say?


	17. Chapter 17

**October fifteenth**.

Time isn't kind to the dead.

Sure, you think you've got the whole afterlife thing pegged. You figure you'll raise some spirits and they'll be all gossamer and light with soft but still oddly shrill trilling voices.

You're wrong.

The dead are decayed and rotting, just as you picture them in your worst nightmares.

There's nothing ethereal about them. They're just…_dead_.

Dead and disgusting.

I _had_ been looking forward to seeing Leah and Terry--until I actually _saw_ Leah and Terry.

They've decomposed to the point that they aren't even recognizable anymore.

And their voices came out cold and cracked, like…like the shards of ice that are so sharp that they can cut your hands in winter.

I spoke with them briefly…they seemed in a hurry to get back to whatever they'd been doing before I called on them…but I couldn't let it be all business.

I told them how much I missed them.

They asked me who I was.

Apparently, death hasn't dulled their sense of humor.

It twists my heart to think of their chilled ghostly chuckles now…

I spoke with other victims of Krueger as well. Almost all of them had the same story to tell, so no help there.

One boy--Glen? I think that was his name--he told me about a woman who had lived in 1428.

Or a girl, rather…since he was her boyfriend at the time he died…

Her name was Nancy…and she was the first one to try and destroy Krueger in his own domain.

She failed, obviously.

Sadly, she's not buried in Springwood, so I couldn't speak to her.

But I _did_ get to speak with his mother. Er, Krueger's that is.

She's nothing but bones, now. Bones and a voice like feet crunching over gravel.

She killed herself. Killed herself for bearing the 'son of a hundred maniacs'.

It might have done a bit more good if she'd killed the kid instead.

But then, how was she to know what he'd turn into? So no, I can't blame her, regardless of how much she blames herself.

Finally, I saved Loretta Morrison Krueger for last.

She wasn't as insightful as I'd hoped she'd be. In fact, all the specter could do was hold her skeletal arms across her ribcage as she rocked back and forth muttering "I won't tell, I won't tell."

So that was a dead end.

If you'll pardon the pun.

During the rituals in the graveyard, I worked at obscuring the dates on the headstones while the dead spoke--so that's one more thing on my to-do list taken care of.

In fact, all that I've got to do is keep up the barrier work I've been doing and then finally head straight into the belly of the beast to kill Krueger.

You wouldn't think that conversations with dead people would make me cheerful…but I feel pretty good.


	18. Chapter 18

**October 16th**

Plans have been changed.

Fuck.

He's in my head, God damn it! I can _hear_ him! I can _feel_ him! I went too far; pressed too hard.

I forced the other planes of existence to mesh with this one too aggressively.

I've opened a rift between dimensions. I have to close it. I have to find a _way_ to close it.

So far the single course of action to take in a case like this that I've found is...

God, I'm not ready for this. I know I said I was, but I'm not.

I have to kill myself. Big fancy ritual, lots of blood letting.

It's the only way.

This wasn't part of the plan! I'm not prepared!

FUCK!

I don't have time to wait until the designated day; I have to go up against him _now_.

Things are unraveling within 1428--literally, the fabric of reality is _warping_--and the only way to stop it is by shedding the 'Life blood of the one who dared open the portal until the veins run dry'.

Charming.

Look, I...I thought I'd get more of a chance for big fancy speeches about the meaning of life before I had to shake myself off the mortal coil, but apparently that option has been taken away from me. I don't have time to spout off and get poetic; all I have time for is the bare essentials.

I gave my life for this cause--but don't think that makes me some kind of hero or a martyr. I'm slaughtering Fred Krueger as much for my own sake as for the sake of Springwood. Have no illusions about why I'm doing this. It's a selfish gesture in the end; a way to assuage my guilt about things best left forgotten--the fact that I'll be saving an entire town is secondary, if I'm being honest.

Secondly, if, by some measure of a miracle, this diary and its twin make their way into the hands of the authorities, I beg of you, don't burn them. They are not only a testament to the horrors that you've tried so valiantly (yet somewhat stupidly) to keep the city safe from. They're also the only evidence that Andie O'Neill ever existed. Maybe that's a little vain, but I...I want something on Earth other than my tombstone to serve as proof that I once lived and breathed like every other being on the planet.

If these volumes are found by scholars--preserve them. Pass them on. Make known what was lost in the battle for Springwood.

And not just _my_ battle--the battle of all those who came before me.

I really wish I could say something Earth shatteringly wise, but to be frank, I'm absolutely petrified. It's a weird cold, calm kind of petrification...I mean, I know what's coming, I know how I'm going to die and when, and I suppose that should give me some measure of comfort...but I'm still frightened of what awaits me on the other side--_beyond_ Krueger.

I won't ask you to wish me luck, reader; because all the luck in the world won't undo what I've caused--only my death will accomplish that goal--but I will say...

No, I won't say that either.

Wish I could say it's been fun, but I can't, because it hasn't. My life has been far from fun.

But it's definitely been one hell of a ride.


	19. Chapter 19

"What the hell do you think you're doin', Parker?"

Officer Thomas Parker fumbled and very nearly dropped the small black notebook that he'd been flicking through at the commanding bark that came from Captain McGowan.

He snapped the book shut and subconsciously tugged at his collar to help alleviate the sensation that he was choking. "Nothing, sir. It's just a--"

McGowan pegged a finger at the younger man, his features stern. "It's evidence, is what it is, and you're tampering with it. Contaminating the scene."

Officer Parker protested, "But sir--"

"_Don't_ make this any harder than it already is, Parker," McGowan snapped. "We've got a grisly death on our hands with ritualistic undertones, the whole fucking house is _bathed_ in blood and you want to read!"

"Sir," Parker stood as tall as he could, trying to remain firm in his convictions, "This diary should be destroyed."

"And now you want to destroy _evidence_!" McGowan's eyes bulged grotesquely. "I don't know what they're teaching at the academy in Cincinnati these days, but in Springwood, we follow certain procedures!"

"But sir!"

"Hand it over, Parker. That book--and everything _else_ connected with this mess--is going to the evidence room where it'll be properly processed and _kept_." McGowan held out his hand, waiting for the young rookie to hand the diary over as ordered.

Reluctantly, Parker gave the slim handwritten volume to his superior without further comment.

It felt…_wrong_ somehow. _So_ wrong when the diary left his hand and ended up in McGowan's…

He watched, dismayed as McGowan handed the book off to another officer, who bagged it carefully. Andie O'Neill had done everything in her power to wipe out all trace of Fred Krueger…all trace…

But she overlooked the fact that her own diaries stood as testament to his existence.

A shiver slithered down Parker's spine as he turned away from McGowan and went about his duties

And somewhere in the bowels of hell, the _nearly_ defeated demon who once inhabited the very messy, physical locale of 1428 Elm Street felt himself grow just a _little_ bit stronger at the sense of apprehension that radiated from the young policeman.

Freddy Krueger _laughed_.


End file.
